


i think i missed you (before i met you)

by megeggsalad



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Panic Attacks, again most of those guys are only mentioned like once or twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: five times dylan kissed connor when he didn't expect it, and once when connor kissed dylan and he didn't expect it.





	i think i missed you (before i met you)

**Author's Note:**

> ITS ALMOST TWO AM I HOPE THERE ARENT ANY MISTAKES. also im sure cianfrone isnt a bad dude he just. he was convenient. sorry buddy

_i. ___  
Dylan Strome gets drafted to the Erie Otters, and it’s like Connor didn’t even know he was missing him until he met him.  


__

__They fit together like two puzzle pieces, like two petals of a flower blooming at the same time. It’s instant--Dylan meets his eyes as they shake hands and smiles at him, and that’s it, Connor’s hooked.  
_ _

__Of course, it helps that Dylan’s magic on the ice. He and Connor connect instantly, and it’s too bad they’re both centers, because Connor’s pretty sure he’d be willing to kill to have Dylan on his wing. They get the power play, though, and that’s something. That’s more than something. Connor knows it.  
_ _

__Dylan meets his billet parents, and it goes well, and for some stupid reason Connor was nervous about it, even though he knows Dylan is incredible and intuitive and surprisingly polite to boot--and Dylan is just his friend, so Connor knows, objectively, that he needs to calm down.  
_ _

__He honestly, truly tries to.  
_ _

__But they’re on the power play, which means he and Dylan are on the ice together--means that chemistry’s there, crackling like electricity between them, and it’s all Connor wants to feel forever.  
_ _

__So when the puck comes to his stick, and he shoots it over to Dylan, and it ends up in the back of the net, and Dylan slams into him, Connor isn’t exactly shocked.  
_ _

__“Fuckin’ beauty, Dyls!” he yells in Dylan’s ear, and Dylan’s laughing as the rest of their teammates crash together around them.  
_ _

__Connor is a little shocked, though, when Dylan pushes into Connor’s space and presses his lips to Connor’s cheek for one brief, gentle moment. It’s a _thank you _more than anything else, but--__  
_ _

Something must show on Connor’s face, his surprise or maybe something else, because Dylan’s expression falls a little, even though the vets are laughing around them. Dylan still looks concerned as they both skate to the bench, so when they sit, Connor tugs a glove off and curls his fingers around Dylan’s arm, squeezing for a minute before refocusing on the game. He can see the little half smile on Dylan’s face, though, and thinks--thinks maybe he could get used to being a little shocked when it comes to Dylan. 

_________ii. ___  
They lose in overtime, and Connor doesn’t care about the extra point.  


__They needed both, and they only got one, and that’s what matters. They’re still in the race--still ahead of the pack, if he’s being honest--but they still needed the point, and it stings that they didn’t get it.  
_ _

__“Heads up,” Brownie calls as they head to the locker room, and Connor tries to listen, he really does, but as soon as he gets to his stall, he drops his head against the top shelf of it, drops his gloves, and tries to right his breathing. He rubs at his eyes--he really needs to stop listening to Dylan when Dylan tries and succeeds to convince him to stay up late and watch NHL highlights--and attempts to calm the anxiety in his stomach, but he can’t do that, either.  
_ _

__He takes one big, deep breath--and feels someone’s hand clamp down on the back of his neck. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Dylan.  
_ _

__“Breathe, Connor,” he orders, and Connor tries, but he’s also trying to ignore how quiet the locker room is--trying to ignore the stares he knows are on him.  
_ _

__He’s _trying _.  
___ _

___“Connor,” Dylan whispers into his ear, and draws him close. “I need you to breathe. You’re scaring me, and Brownie looks like he’s about two seconds away from coming over here.”  
_ _ _

____You’re scaring me. _  
__ _ _ _

___Dylan’s words echo in his head, and that’s--that’s the last thing he wants, and he knows Dylan knows that.  
_ _ _

___“I’m fine,” he gasps out. “I’m fine, it’s okay.” And he does breathe, but when Dylan goes to pull back, he tenses again and grabs Dylan’s jersey, tugging him closer, and Dylan goes easily, wrapping an arm around Connor’s back and leaning in close. Connor knows that touch anchors him when he’s like this, and knows that Dylan’s touch will do it better than anyone else’s.  
_ _ _

___“What can I do?” Dylan asks, casting a glance over his shoulder and nodding at someone, probably Brownie. Connor doesn’t mind their captain, but he also doesn’t need Brownie in his face right now. He just needs Dylan.  
_ _ _

___“I don’t know,” Connor manages. It sounds like a lie, and it kind of is, and his stomach clenches again. His fist clenches with it, making a stronger fist in Dylan’s jersey. “Just--I don’t know.”  
_ _ _

___“We need to shower,” Dylan says, calmly. “Can you do that for me?”  
_ _ _

___“I think so,” Connor says, and lets Dylan straighten him up. He methodically takes off all of his gear and showers, and can feel Dylan keeping an eye on him the whole time.  
_ _ _

___Dylan touches him again when he’s pulling his shirt on, just tugs his shirt down his stomach for him and wraps an arm around his back again, cupping his face with a hand to pull his head down so he can speak in Connor’s ear.  
_ _ _

___“Do you feel any better?” Dylan murmurs, stroking his thumb over Connor’s cheek.  
_ _ _

___Connor takes a minute to check himself over: his breathing is more even, but that’s probably because he’s had a minute to actually breathe after playing, and both he and Dylan can feel him trembling, and his stomach still feels like it’s in a blender. Dylan helps, the steady stroke of his thumb against Connor’s cheek, but still--  
_ _ _

___“No,” Connor decides, and Dylan nods. He gestures to Connor’s equipment and raises an eyebrow, but no, Connor can do that. There’s not much he feels like he can do right now, but he can do that.  
_ _ _

___“Go get yours,” Connor whispers, and rubs a hand over his face. Everything feels like it’s going in slow motion without Dylan next to him, anchoring him to the world, but he packs up his stuff and gives it to the equipment manager, who gives him a sympathetic look and tells him to wait a minute, so Dylan can catch up with him, probably. Connor knows how out of it he must look, if it’s anywhere close to how he feels.  
_ _ _

___“Back of the bus, buddy,” Dylan whispers to him, and Connor goes, Dylan’s hand on his back pressing him forward.  
_ _ _

___Connor can hear the echo of the press in his ears, can hear the voices calling him the ‘Next One,’ can hear the voices predicting his ‘fall from grace,’ can feel the pressure building in his lungs.  
_ _ _

___He must breathe out too hard or too loudly, because Dylan suddenly shoves him into the last seat on the bus and throws himself in after, immediately pulling Connor to his chest. Connor scrabbles at Dylan’s shirt, feels like if he doesn’t hold onto something, he’ll just float away, and Dylan grabs both of his hands in one. He lets Connor grip his shirt with one fist, but just holds Connor’s hand with the other, keeping his free arm wrapped around Connor like a vice, keeping him close and the contact, the safety of it all, just--makes him quiet.  
_ _ _

___Tears burn hot behind Connor’s eyes and when Dylan whispers, “It’s okay, Connor,” he lets them fall, pressing his face into Dylan’s shirt.  
_ _ _

___He stays quiet, though, and Dylan just holds his hand and runs a hand up and down his back, whispering as quietly as he can into Connor’s ear about how it’s okay, he’s amazing, he can do this, they can all do this.  
_ _ _

___“I know,” Connor finally whispers back, taking a breath once his tears stop. They’ve been on the road for a while now, he thinks, and when he looks up at Dylan, Dylan just smiles down at him and lets go of his hand to cup his face again, stroking his thumb across Connor’s cheek once more, this time to wipe away his tears.  
_ _ _

___Dylan smiles at him, but it looks so sad, and Dylan just whispers, “Oh, Connor.”  
_ _ _

___“I--I’m sorry,” Connor whispers, because he never wanted to make Dylan look upset like that.  
_ _ _

___“No,” Dylan says, soft but fierce, looking a little bit angry at him. “Don’t you apologize for that, Con. You don’t have to apologize for that, ever. It’s not your fault the entire hockey world has decided to put every single ounce of pressure onto your shoulders. Just lean on us, on me. You’re allowed.”  
_ _ _

___Connor just rests his head back onto Dylan’s chest and adjusts his legs so they’re no longer falling asleep.  
_ _ _

___Dylan sighs again, and leans down, and suddenly his lips are warm on the temple of Connor’s forehead.  
_ _ _

___“You’re allowed,” Dylan whispers again, fiercely, and Connor closes his eyes and tries to believe him._ _ _

_____ _

_____________________iii. ___  
Dylan’s season has been fucking phenomenal.  


__Which means, of course, that he has to hit a slump eventually.  
_ _

__They’re at home when it happens, and even Connor knows not to comment, not to offer Dylan any advice or encourage him, because Dylan knows, and they all know Dylan knows.  
_ _

__When they lose, though, it really isn’t Dylan’s fault. Their defense was doing everything but connecting, their communication was weak, Connor himself was off his game. There were a million things that could’ve gone wrong that did, and a million things that could’ve gone right that didn’t and it really, truly, was not Dylan’s fault.  
_ _

__Connor knows Dylan, though, and knows Dylan won’t think like that.  
_ _

__When they get to the locker room, and Dylan all but ignores him, though, that’s when Connor knows just how badly Dylan is taking this. The C on his jersey makes him want to go to Dylan and sit him down, but Connor knows listening to that C won’t help right now.  
_ _

__He drives Dylan home, and the silence between them, for the first time in a long time, is cold. When Connor parks in the driveway of Dylan’s billet house, he doesn’t unlock the doors, because it doesn’t look like anyone is home.  
_ _

__“Where are your parents?” he asks.  
_ _

__“Mississauga,” Dylan answers, and doesn’t look at him.  
_ _

__“ _Dylan _,” Connor snaps, and Dylan finally looks at him. His baleful glare doesn’t help much, but at least he’s finally looking at Connor.  
___ _

___“Don’t fucking do this to me, Dyls,” Connor says, and reaches for Dylan’s hand. He’s only minorly surprised when Dylan lets him take it. “We are a _team _. We win as a team, we lose as a team, whatever happens, we do it as a goddamn team. That’s hockey. Don’t you blame yourself for something that was everyone’s fault.”____  
_

Dylan’s eyes are still on him, but now he sort of wishes they weren’t, because they’re filled with tears.  


“Dylan,” Connor says, and wishes he could convince Dylan with only the sound of his voice. “You are so good. You are so, so good. You’ve been keeping us alive lately. One off game doesn’t change that.”  


There’s silence for a moment, and then Dylan says, “You know what I’m going to say.”  


And Connor does. He knows a thousand things Dylan wants to say right now, and that’s why Dylan won’t waste his breath saying them.  


“Where are your parents?” Connor asks again, softer this time.  


“They went away for the weekend,” Dylan murmurs, and finally looks away, out the windshield and to his billet home. “It’s just me for this weekend.”  


Dylan and an entire cabinet full of liquor, which Connor knows but won’t say out loud.  


“Will you be okay?” Connor asks.  


“Unlock the doors, Connor,” is all Dylan says.  


“Dylan,” Connor says, softly, and even he hears the pain in his own voice.  


“Please, Con,” Dylan whispers, and his voice breaks.  


And, because Connor can’t deny Dylan anything, he does. Dylan opens the door and starts to get out, but then seems to think twice about it, making Connor’s heart jump with hope.  


But Dylan doesn’t get all the way back in. What he does do is lean over the console, put his hand on the back of Connor’s neck to pull Connor closer, and press his mouth to Connor’s forehead.  


He whispers, “I love you, Connor McDavid,” against Connor’s skin, and gets out of the car.  


Connor’s heart feels heavier, that night, than it ever really has before. 

_________________________________iv. ___  
Connor doesn’t expect to fight in his hockey career, ever. Not in the OHL, not in the NHL--he plays rough hockey, he just doesn’t want to fight.  


__Until Cianfrone picks up on the _something _between he and Dylan, and doesn’t stop giving him hell for it. He checks Dylan too hard, bothers Connor too much, and god, Connor is tired of just taking it all.  
___ _

___So he drops his gloves, and when his fist hits the glass, and pain explodes in his hand, he knows he’s fucked up. He doesn’t look at his hand, doesn’t want to see how bad it is.  
_ _ _

___He goes to the box and then goes to the locker room, trainer trailing behind him, and his trainer tells him what he already knows: he’s broken his hand.  
_ _ _

___He sort of wants to die for a few minutes, after he hears that. He puts ice on his hand because he’s told to, and just--waits. Waits for his team, waits for the coach, waits for Dylan.  
_ _ _

___He gets Dylan first. His best friend storms into the locker room and that’s how he knows it’s intermission. Dylan drops his stick, gloves, and helmet and kneels in front of Connor, skates be damned, apparently.  
_ _ _

___It hurts to move his hand but he lets Dylan take it, and when Dylan looks at him, face blank of any emotion, Connor swallows.  
_ _ _

___Dylan drops Connor’s hand, gently, onto his lap, and stands back up. He walks back out of the dressing room, and knows Connor will follow, which of course he does.  
_ _ _

___Dylan walks into one of the equipment closets without saying a word, and Connor starts to get a little concerned, when Dylan suddenly spins around, puts his hands on Connor’s face, and very, very softly, presses his lips to Connor’s.  
_ _ _

___It takes Connor all of about a second to process, and he kisses back, folding his unhurt hand into Dylan’s jersey.  
_ _ _

___And Dylan is sweaty, and gross, and doesn’t smell good, but Connor doesn’t care, because--finally. _Finally. _____  
_

And then, all of a sudden, Dylan pulls back, and Connor--no, Connor doesn’t want that, but Dylan’s already talking.  


“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed--I should’ve asked--”  


“Dyls,” Connor murmurs, untangling his hand from Dylan’s jersey to touch his face. “It’s okay, I promise.”  


The raw hope on Dylan’s face sort of breaks Connor’s heart.  


“I heard exactly what he was saying about us, and you,” Dylan says, and reaches down for Connor’s injured hand again. “It was uncalled for, but you didn’t need to break a goddamn hand, Davo.”  


Connor laughs, a little, even though his hand hurts, because what the fuck, how could he not. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says, and his voice sounds a little shy, even to his own ears.  
Dylan smiles at him, and god, Connor wants to see that smile forever.  


“I know,” Dylan says, and leans forward to kiss him again. “We’re going to win the game for you.”  


“You can only do that if you get your ass back in the locker room and change,” Connor says, and Dylan laughs at him, but they both head out of the closet and back to their team.  


Dylan keeps his promise, and kisses Connor once more after Connor gets his cast and they’re curled up together in Dylan’s basement-bedroom.  


Connor says, “I wish you’d have done that sooner.”  


Dylan replies, “Me too,” and kisses Connor again. 

_____________________________________________v. __  
The draft is in three goddamn days, and Connor can already feel the panic starting to warm his blood and turn his stomach. He goes about his life like normal, goes through whatever events they have planned for the prospects on any given day. He’s civil with Eichel, laughs with Mitch, and kisses Dylan, and tries to pretend like it’s all normal, all of it, like everything he’s ever known isn’t about to fall apart right in front of him.  
_

___He tries to pretend like he doesn’t have Taylor Hall’s number in his phone, like he isn’t already messaging Ryan Nugent-Hopkins about apartments in Edmonton--tries not to think that far ahead and knows he’s failing miserably. He also tries not to feel guilty about it, but he knows he’s failing miserably at that, too.  
_ _ _

___He knows Dylan’s picked up on it. Knows Dylan’s picked up on the fact that Connor’s been distancing himself, and god, he’s not trying to, but he can’t quite look at Dylan and not think, _I am leaving you _quite yet. He can’t stomach that, can’t handle knowing it’s true, can’t handle hating himself for it just a little bit.  
___ _ _

___He wishes he weren’t as good, sometimes, so that there was a chance he and Dylan could get drafted together, but then he thinks about how he’s about to get everything he’s ever dreamed of, save a Stanley Cup, and that feeling washes away in an instant, and so he feels guilty some more.  
_ _ _

___It’s at the end of the day, after all of their league scheduled activities and dinner with the other prospects, when they’re all hanging out in their hotel’s game room. Dylan catches his eye, jerks his chin, and walks straight out of the room. Mitch catches his eye right after and raises an eyebrow, and Connor thinks he knows. He also doesn’t think he has a problem with that, Mitch knowing, but it’s still kind of a jolting thing to realize. A few minutes pass and he slips out after Dylan, and he’s sure Mitch’s eyes follow him the whole way.  
_ _ _

___Dylan’s leaning against the door to their room, and he smiles when he sees Connor. It doesn’t reach his eyes.  
_ _ _

___“Let’s talk,” he says, and it’s quiet, but it doesn’t sound like a suggestion. Connor nods, pulls out his room key, and lets them both in. He kicks off his shoes, Dylan mimicking the movement, and sits on his bed, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning back against the headboard. Dylan stares at him, for a minute, and Connor knows how defensive his posture already looks.  
_ _ _

___“I’m not going to yell at you,” Dylan says, and sits on the bed next to him. The sliver of space between them feels like a canyon, and Connor knows he’s dug it himself.  
_ _ _

___“I know,” Connor says, but he doesn’t sound sure of it at all.  
_ _ _

___“I just,” Dylan says, and trails off. “I just want to spend this with you. _With _you, not wishing you were closer to me or wishing I felt comfortable enough to whisper something to you, or--”  
___ _ _

___“I get it,” Connor interrupts, and he manages not to sound angry. He puts his face in his hands, rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I know, I’m sorry, I get it. It’s just--”  
_ _ _

___Connor cuts himself off, and Dylan puts a hand on his back, finally touches him, and says, “It’s just what, Con?”  
_ _ _

___Connor looks at him. Looks at Dylan, who’s been his A, his best friend, his boyfriend, for years now. Connor looks at him and falls in love with him again, just like he does every time he looks at Dylan. And that’s _just what _, Connor thinks.  
___ _ _

___What he says is this: “It’s just that this is it, Dyls. This is all we’ve got. And I know we already played our last game together--” God, that one hurts to say. “--but it’s just--this is it. I’m probably going to Edmonton, and you’re probably going to Arizona, or Buffalo, or hell, even Toronto. There’s no way in hell you don’t go in the first round. And I, Dylan, I don’t want to face that. I don’t want to believe it, and the moment I look at you I’m reminded, and--”  
_ _ _

___And Dylan’s mouth is on his, demanding for the split second it takes Connor to relax into him, and then his lips are soft on Connor’s, teasing his mouth open and making Connor sigh with the softness of them.  
_ _ _

___“Sometimes,” Dylan whispers, “you think too much. We’re not going to be on the same team, Davo. We just aren’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere--if anything, I should be worried about you leaving me behind. But I’m not, because I know you, and I know us, and neither of us are going anywhere any time soon. I know you know that.”  
_ _ _

___And Connor does know, is the thing. He leans in, presses his lips against Dylan’s one more time, and says, “I know.”  
_ _ _

___(What he thinks is: _I love you. _)  
___ _ _

___(He doesn’t say it out loud.)___

_____________________________________________________+1  
Connor has never been so tired. He remembers breaking his collarbone, remembers the high of the pain meds and the exhaustion that had come with it, but this is different. He’s never played so much hockey, and for so long, at once, and not while captaining a team to boot.  
___________

___He just wants to see Dylan. He hasn’t seen Dylan in months, and Skype isn’t the same, not by a long shot.  
_ _ _

___Dylan had been right, though, at the draft: neither of them had gone anywhere.  
_ _ _

___And so as he boards his flight to Philadelphia, and rechecks the details of the rental car waiting for him, all Connor wants to do is sleep. He does, dozing off right as the plane takes off, and sleeps for the majority of the flight, waking up about an hour before they’re scheduled to land. He scrolls through social media, likes a few things, and then puts in his headphones and tries not to play songs that remind him too much of Dylan, because even though he’s seeing him in a few hours, the sting of missing him is somehow still so sharp.  
_ _ _

___The airline has his luggage waiting for him when his flight is over, and the drive from Philly to Erie doesn’t seem long, even though Connor knows it is. Everything just seems a little different, now: because he’s still so goddamn exhausted, because he’s seeing Dylan soon, because he’s getting almost a full week of Dylan and nothing between them.  
_ _ _

___Because he thinks the Edmonton Oilers are finally, _finally _a playoff team, and he wants to tell Dylan before he tells anyone else.  
___ _ _

___When he knocks on the door, it’s Dylan’s voice he hears shouting, “Just a minute!”, and his heart aches with the familiarity of it, the beauty of something so close and so genuinely _Dylan _.  
___ _ _

___When the door opens, Dylan just stands there, and looks at him, even when Connor whispers, “Hey,” voice too loud still for the moment.  
_ _ _

___There are tears in Dylan’s eyes, Connor thinks, but he’s so tired of waiting and so he doesn’t, he just steps up next to Dylan and pulls him down into a kiss.  
_ _ _

___Dylan wasn’t expecting it, not really, but he goes pliant under Connor’s hands and melts into the kiss, tugging Connor close even though they’re out in the open and anyone could see.  
_ _ _

___Connor doesn’t even care. Connor is so, so tired of caring.  
_ _ _

___“How are you here?” Dylan gasps out when they both pull back. “ _Why _are you here?”  
___ _ _

___“I flew here,” Connor says simply, “because I love you.”  
_ _ _

___Dylan seems to stop breathing, and then all at once he’s kissing Connor again, pressing his lips to Connor’s again and again and again.  
_ _ _

___“I love you, too,” Dylan whispers against the skin of his neck, pulling him completely in for a tight hug.  
_ _ _

___There are so, so many things Connor wants to say, right now and forever, but he figures--they do have that long, forever. Because that’s what they are.  
_ _ _

___So instead of saying them, he whispers, “C’mon,” and guides Dylan inside his own house, where he presses Dylan up against the inside of the front door, and kisses him again.___

**Author's Note:**

> i am so tired but i had to do this tonight ok i HAD TO. i really really hope you liked it.


End file.
